


With a Little Help from My Friend

by astano



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-26
Updated: 2011-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astano/pseuds/astano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things get a little heated after too much alcohol, leading to a heart-to-heart and a compromise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With a Little Help from My Friend

Santana supposes its only really been a matter of time until she found herself in this position. It’s not like she hasn't had her suspicions; that girl is one hotbed mess of repression. Not that she can really talk, but the things you pick up in other people are often the same things you're trying to hide yourself.

So, when she finds herself pressed up against the sink in Puck’s bathroom, Quinn’s breath hot in her ear and fingers tugging at the hem of her skirt, she’s not _too_ surprised.

"Quinn, what the fuck" she half groans in protest when her brain finally takes over from the baser instinct that had her griping Quinn’s ass and pulling her closer. Quinn just grunts, dragging her tongue down the side of Santana’s neck and placing wet, open-mouthed kisses in the hollow of her throat.

"Quinn," she tries again, gripping the girl’s shoulders and pushing her backwards. "You're drunk, stop it."

"Nuh uh, s'ok." Quinn sways forward, possibly trying to reattach herself to the side of Santana’s neck, and, as much as Santana admits it felt damn good and it’s really been far too long since she’s gotten laid, she can't take advantage of her friend. She thinks it probably speaks to the amount she’s grown as a person in the last year because she simply strengthens her hold on Quinn, keeping a good few inches between them.

"Damn it Quinn, when did I become the sensible one out of the two of us?"

And it probably is her fault, Santana thinks, it was her idea to come to the party in the first place, but, if she'd known just how drunk Quinn was going to end up, she might have thought twice about dragging her friend along with her.

"I'm taking you home before you do something you’ll really regret." Quinn nods and her shoulders slump a little. Then, before Santana even realises what’s happening, her arms are full of weepy, hysterical blonde and she's awkwardly patting her on the back and trying not to wince as the only soothing words she can think of are 'there, there'.

Perhaps she is helping because it takes only a few minutes before outright hysteria has settled down into the occasional sob and Quinn's apologising between shuddering breaths. Santana’s not quite sure which part of the last fifteen minutes Quinn is apologising for, but she tells her there’s nothing to be sorry about and means it.

She shifts them sideways so she’s got one arm around Quinn’s waist and is holding onto Quinn’s hand where it’s dangling loosely over her shoulder. After manoeuvring them out of the bathroom, she leads them through the living room and to the front door. She’s momentarily thankful for the fact that Puck’s bathroom is downstairs as Quinn has essentially become a deadweight and there’s no way she could manage stairs.

As the cold air hits them, Quinn seems to perk up a little and after a few minutes of walking is able to manage without Santana holding her upright. Still, she zig-zags quite alarmingly so Santana keeps hold of her hand in an effort to make sure she doesn’t inadvertently walk into the middle of the road.

It’s a fairly long walk from Puck’s house to her own but Santana hopes the exercise will sober them both up a little. She knows she needs to talk to Quinn about what happened in the bathroom and it just wouldn’t do to leave it until tomorrow when she’s had time to sink back into her normal state of denial.

“So,” she says, glancing at Quinn out of the corner of her eye. “Wanna tell me what that was back there?”

“Nope.” Quinn smirks as she suddenly frees herself from Santana’s grasp and half runs-half stumbles forward a few paces.

Santana lunges forward to catch her when it looks like she’s going to trip over her own feet. The move brings Quinn flush against her body and when Quinn turns in her arms their faces are inches apart. Quinn’s demeanour switches from almost child-like giddiness to suggestive in a millisecond and she drops her gaze to Santana’s lips, bringing her tongue out to moisten her own. Santana takes a deep breath and gently disengages herself from Quinn, clasping their hands together once again.

Quinn momentarily looks like she’s going to burst into tears again and Santana works quickly to reassure her – there’s only so much hysteria she can take in one evening.

“You’re still drunk, Quinn, and you’re my friend and I don’t want things to be weird.” Santana once again internally applauds her obvious personal growth, it wasn’t so long ago that she’d have jumped at the chance to, well, jump Quinn – it was prime blackmail material, after all. But now, after listening to Brittany’s speech at the end of term, she’s come to realise that Brittany was right, the glee club are family, each and every one of them, and you probably shouldn’t blackmail family.

Quinn looks at her out of the corner of her eye, a smile starting to form. “So, if I’m sober by the time we get to your house we can continue what we started at the party?”

Santana hesitates. She really doesn’t want to say no, but this is _Quinn_. Still... there’s a definite ache settling inside her now and Quinn’s there and willing and if she’s sober enough to make the decision who is Santana to question it?

“If you’re sober,” Santana promises. “And only if you tell me why you’ve suddenly gotten the urge to be all up on this after all these years.”

“You’re lonely.”

Santana turns her head sharply, “I’m not. And that doesn’t even answer my question.”

“You are. I can tell. You lost Brittany because you’re not ready to deal with what being with her will mean. You’re lonely. And I’m lonely because the person I want already has someone and I don’t even know how I feel about them really, but it doesn’t matter because it’s never going to happen. So I need someone and you need someone and neither of us can have who we want but we can have each other and that’s got to be better than nothing, right?”

“Two closet cases fumbling around in the dark together, huh?”

“Closet... I didn’t... I’m... I’m not _gay_.” Quinn whips her head around as she says the last word, almost as if she is expecting someone to jump out from the bushes and start pointing fingers at her.

Santana laughs. “Oh come on, Q. You’ve been drooling over me all night and practically demanding I have sex with you...”

“That’s... that doesn’t make me gay.” She hisses. “Desperate, maybe. Lonely, definitely...” She trails off as Santana continues to stare at her in disbelief.

“And this ‘person’ you have the hots for?” Santana smirks as she draws her hands up to make air quotes at the appropriate place. “As far as the world’s concerned, I’m as straight as they come, I know how to play the pronoun game, Quinn.”

“Y-you can’t tell anyone. I don’t even... I mean I-I don’t _know_ how I feel.” Quinn draws a deep breath. “Damn it, Santana. This was supposed to be easy. I make you feel good, you make me feel good and no one else ever has to know.”

“Relax, Q. I’m not gonna tell anyone you’re a closet case. I mean I’m not one to be preaching about coming out or whatever. You and Britt are the only people who know about me and I wouldn’t even be having this conversation with you if I wasn’t slightly wasted.”

Quinn looks over at Santana and smiles hesitantly, a wave of relief running through her body. She clutches Santana’s hand tighter between her own for a second before allowing herself to be dragged forward, continuing their walk home. She’s known for a while that she was probably gay, she’d tried to suppress the feelings by throwing herself into one relationship after another, hoping somewhere along the way she might actually find a guy that could make her feel something, _anything_. It hasn’t worked so far and now, now she has to contend with a growing attraction to someone who probably hates her. It was what had pushed her into Santana’s arms earlier. It’s what continues to push her now. If she can lose herself in someone else, perhaps the unrequited feelings will go away. She knows there will be nothing lasting about anything that happens tonight, but it would be nice to feel wanted, if only for a few hours.

Santana’s curiosity finally gets the better of her when they’ve been walking in silence for several minutes. “Who’s the girl?” She asks.

After a brief internal debate, Quinn throws caution to the wind. It actually feels good to be talking about this with someone else. She might not be ready to throw a pride parade, but having someone there, someone going through the same thing as her, it was nice. “I’m going to deny this when I’m sober,” she starts and smiles at Santana’s raised eyebrow. “It’s Rachel, okay, now shut up and don’t say anything about it.”

Santana can’t help herself, she laughs which quickly morphs into a squeal of pain when Quinn hits her in the stomach. “I-I’m sorry, okay,” she gets out between giggles. “But of all people, _Berry_? I mean, she’s done nothing but pine after Finn the whole time we’ve been in glee.”

“I _know_ ,” Quinn says, the exasperation clear in her tone. “I just—I can’t help it... she’s just... her voice... her eyes... those _skirts_ and her goddamn legs. I can’t help it, okay.”

Santana rolls her eyes at Quinn as she throws her hands up in a helpless gesture. “But you’re not gay, though?”

Quinn returns the eye roll. “Maybe just a little bit...” At Santana’s pointed look she huffs. “Fine, I’m gay. I’m really, really gay.”

Things turn quiet for a little while until Quinn breaks free from Santana’s grasp again, laughing as she tries to do some spinning move that Santana thinks is probably some form of ballet. It would be amusing if it weren’t for the very real probability that she’s going to end up in the middle of the road.

Santana eventually stops her mid-spin with arms around her waist. “You,” she says, poking Quinn in the chest, “are quite obviously still drunk.”

“Not so much,” Quinn replies, still breathless from her impromptu spinning session. “Look, I can touch my nose with my finger, that’s one of the tests they make you do isn’t it?” She leans her head back and closes her eyes, bringing the tip of her index finger to rest on her nose. After a second she looks at Santana again, a smile tugging at her lips as she brings her hand down to rest lightly on Santana’s waist. “If I can do that,” she says, lowering her face until her lips are millimetres from Santana’s, “I’m allowed to do this.”

Quinn’s lips are insistent against Santana’s and, after several seconds of just standing there, Santana finally gives in. She returns the kiss, shifts her body closer into Quinn and sighs as one of Quinn’s hands lifts to cup her cheek.

Quinn runs her thumb lightly over Santana’s skin. It’s weird, Quinn thinks, to not only be kissing someone shorter than her, but having her hand meet smooth skin, where normally she would be meeting the resistance of an abrasive five o’clock shadow. With her mind mostly free of the alcohol induced haze, she’s able to take in everything about this kiss that she didn’t notice in the one they shared in Puck’s bathroom. Santana’s body feels _good_ against hers. She moans into the kiss when, for the first time, she notices the hard points of Santana’s nipples pushing against her. Without fully processing what she’s about to do, the hand that had been holding onto Santana’s waist skims upwards and cups Santana’s breast over her shirt. She’s startled when Santana immediately breaks the kiss with a ragged moan.

“Fuck, Quinn,” Santana says, her breathing heavy and Quinn notices her eyes have gotten darker and there’s a definite flush to her skin. She feels slightly awed that it’s her touch that is responsible for Santana’s reactions. “If you’re serious about this, which you better fucking be now, we need to get home ‘cause I’m not doing this in the middle of the street.”

Quinn flushes, as if she’s only just remembered they are out in the open. A quick survey of the area allows her to see that none of the houses around them show any light, but that doesn’t mean someone couldn’t be hidden in one of the darkened windows, watching them put on a show.

“I’m serious, Santana. Take me home.”

Santana takes Quinn by the hand again and leads them through the streets. They were already most of the way there, so it’s only another few minutes until they’re arriving at Santana’s door. The house is dark and Santana’s parent’s car is missing from the driveway, so Quinn assumes they have the house to themselves. It’s a good thing they do, because, as soon as they’re through the door, Santana has Quinn backed against it, her lips covering Quinn’s in an instant.

It’s frantic, this time, with no threat of interruption, Santana breath hot against her as her tongue swipes insistently along Quinn’s bottom lip. Quinn moans and opens her mouth to the kiss, pulling Santana closer, needing to feel the heat of Santana’s body pressed against her own. The wetness between her thighs increases the moment she feels soft curves settle into her. The smoothness of  Santana’s thigh as she brings it up to settle at the apex of Quinn’s legs is so different to the unyielding hardness she’s used to and it’s so much better. She loses herself in a haze of pleasure as Santana rocks into her. The knowledge washes over her that this is a _girl_ and, even though it’s _Santana_ and they’ve only just gotten back to the friendship they used to have, it feels more right than anything she’s ever experienced before.

Too soon, Santana breaks the kiss, and even though Quinn’s trying desperately to suck in much needed air, she whimpers at the loss.

“I’m not fucking you against the door,” is Santana’s only verbal response to Quinn’s needy whimpers but she does begin to drag Quinn through the house. When they get to Santana’s bedroom, Quinn finds herself suddenly nervous. They’re really going to do this, and, even though she desperately wants to, she’s scared that she won’t know what to do. Santana seems to sense her sudden anxiety. “You can still stop this, I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to.”

Quinn shakes her head. “No, I still want to. God, I want to, I just... what if I’m no good?”

“Don’t think too much about it. Just watch how I respond to you and figure out what’s good from that.” Quinn nods, eyes still a little unsure, but, when Santana starts to kiss her again, she quickly loses herself in the feeling. Kissing, at least, she’s an expert at. She barely registers that Santana is making short work of their clothing, until their kiss is broken so t-shirts can be removed. Bras quickly follow and, soon, they’re standing naked.

It’s not the first time Quinn has seen another girl entirely naked, but it’s the first time she’s actually been _allowed_ to look. Her gaze sweeps over Santana, taking in everything, from the way her chest rises and falls with each rapid breath, the dark tips of her puckered nipples standing out against the lighter flesh of her breast, to the sparse patch of hair between her legs.

Santana stands still as Quinn’s eyes rake over her body. She’s not shy of her nakedness and allows Quinn to take her time. It’s a relief, though, when Quinn finally steps closer, bringing a hand up to trace a fingertip around the outside of one breast.

Quinn watches in awe as goosebumps rise in the wake of her touch and, when Santana shivers slightly and releases a ragged breath she grows bolder, cupping the breast fully in her hand and squeezing slightly as she runs her thumb over the nipple.

“That’s good,” Santana says, her voice shaky as she tries to control her growing arousal. “Harder is good as well.”

Quinn takes direction well and is soon pinching and pulling at both nipples, delighting at each noise of encouragement she hears from Santana. Her mouth isn’t idle, she’s nipping and sucking at Santana’s neck, feeling the erratic beat of Santana’s pulse under her tongue as she soothes the skin after each stinging bite.

Santana’s desire to allow Quinn control of the situation erodes with each added sensation. The feel of Quinn’s tongue gliding up her neck then teeth taking hold of her earlobe to bite down gently finally snaps her resolve. She spins them quickly, walking Quinn the short distance to her bed and pushing her down.

Quinn’s squeak of surprise morphs into a groan as Santana lays her body fully against her. Santana lets out a groan of her own as her thigh comes to rest against Quinn’s centre and Quinn immediately bucks upwards, spreading her wetness along the length of Santana’s leg.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Santana asks.

“Uh huh, so good.” Quinn rocks herself harder into Santana, each stroke sending bolts of pleasure throughout her body. She can’t believe it’s taken her so long to give in to this. She can’t believe she’s already so close to orgasm and Santana hasn’t even really touched her yet.

Santana leans down to draw a nipple into her mouth and Quinn’s eyes roll back. With one hand, she grasps the back of Santana’s neck, holding her in place while the other grips desperately at the sheets underneath her.

Her grip with both hands intensifies as Santana shifts slightly, allowing enough space to come between them so she can slip a hand lower. Fingers skim lightly through her folds, drawing teasing circles around her entrance and Quinn’s head pushes back into the pillow as she raises her hips insistently in a silent plea for more.

“Do you want this?” Santana’s voice is rough against her ear now and Quinn wonders when she moved her mouth from her breasts.

It doesn’t matter, though, because all she knows is the promise of fingers inside her, filling her and she needs to feel that more than anything she’s ever needed before.

“Yes, please, yes,” she begs and is rewarded with one of Santana’s fingers entering her quickly but it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough. “Another,” she demands. Santana complies, pushing two fingers deep inside her and she cries out. Santana’s moving quickly, curling her fingers with each thrust and Quinn can’t stop the sounds coming out of her mouth each time Santana hits just the right spot inside of her. Her walls are clenching around Santana’s fingers and she’s dimly aware that Santana is using the full weight of her body to move harder and deeper inside of her with each thrust.

She’s slamming her hips up to meet Santana every time and she’s so close, her heels are digging into the bed as she tries for more leverage, but it’s the stroke of Santana’s thumb over her clit that sends her over the edge. Her muscles tightening as she curses through her release, wetness coating Santana’s hand. Santana doesn’t slow down her movements, she continues to thrust hard and fast throughout Quinn’s orgasm, moving her thumb in tighter circles over Quinn’s clit and Quinn didn’t believe it was possible, but she’s going to come again. She can’t hold back the scream as her second orgasm washes over her.

When she’s finally able to breath normally again, she looks over at Santana, who’s collapsed by her side, and can do nothing but smile contentedly. “Wow,” she says, before laughing at her complete inability to vocalise a full sentence.

“I know, I’m good aren’t I?” Santana says, a smug smile on her face.

Quinn hits her lightly in the stomach. “Give me a minute and I’ll show you good.”

“You seem pretty confident now.”

“I think,” Quinn says, rolling over and trailing her fingers down Santana’s stomach. “You are so turned on right now,” she trails lower and hears Santana’s breathing increase as her fingers dip into the wetness there. “I could probably just tell you what I want to do to you and you’d come.”

Santana thinks about protesting, but really, with Quinn’s fingers making circles around her clit and the way her hips are chasing every movement, she’s got no room to deny anything. “Quit teasing,” she says instead, “and put your fingers inside me already.”

Quinn shakes her head and withdraws her hand to a moan of protest. “I want to taste you,” she says, crawling backwards down the bed and coming to rest with her mouth inches away from Santana’s centre. She’s immediately surrounded by the heady scent of Santana’s arousal and groans at the thought of what she’s about to do.

She flicks her tongue out, exploring Santana thoroughly, what makes her groan, what makes her thrust her hips up, the patterns she can draw around her clit that make her beg for more. It’s a new experience, but she listens to Santana’s body and soon has the other girl trembling beneath her, begging her to make her come. She sucks Santana’s clit into her mouth and moves her tongue rapidly over the tip and Santana shudders through her orgasm, holding Quinn’s head in place until the last waves have subsided.

“Well?” Quinn asks a few minutes later.

“Not bad for a first time.” Santana replies.

Quinn huffs. Not bad isn’t good enough but when she says that to Santana, Santana only laughs at her.

“I’m going again,” Quinn says. “And this time I _will_ make you scream.”

Santana lays back with a smile on her face as Quinn begins the second round of what will turn out to be many over the course of the summer.


End file.
